James stared at his wife in amusement. She was just so happy, and despite looking absolutely mental with her face painted orange, wearing a pumpkin costume that she had transfigured out of an old tablecloth, he could not begrudge her this moment of happiness—not when the past few years had been a nightmare for them.

She can't say the words. She can't even breathe for fear of what would happen to her if she said them. There's a steel knife in her windpipe, blocking out oxygen and words and the courage she thinks she might have if she could grasp it tight enough and just fucking run.

Written for Sing Me a Rare 2017Winner: Best Characterisation, One You Wish Could Be Canon; Runner Up: Best Use of Song